Every Story Has A Beginning
by Supernaturalverse
Summary: What would you do if you read an old friend died under mysterious circumstances? John Winchester finds there are some supernatural questions even he can't answer. Characters: John Winchester, OFC, mild language
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I created this character way back in 2006 for a Supernatural role playing game. At the time, it was more something tossed together that I thought would get occasional play but I found her becoming more interesting as I started to dwell on her back story and inner thoughts. After the episode 'Jump The Shark', I was talking to Midnight Profit about the creepy irony between this character and the main female in 'JTS'. First, they were both nurses, though Dana had left the profession shortly after her husband's death. Secondly, for videos, Dana's 'play by' --- visual for non rp'ers --- is Michelle Pfeiffer, the female from 'JTS' was played by her sister, Dedee Pfeiffer. (Also, they touched vaguely of shapeshifters in 'JTS' which was the basis for a totally random theory Midnight Profit and I came up with for the episode after reading spoilers --- but that's an unrelated story and I'm rambling...). This is actually the second go around for a Miller (no relation to Max) backstory, this one coming from MP's and mine current rpg. Anyway, for my entertainment, here is the first installment and my first foray into solo fic'ing. I don't think she liked John much in the beginning, guess we'll see...

~Mellie Anderson

* * *

_**October 12, 1995**_

_**Nevada**_

_**Wells Cemetery**_

_**11:45 AM**_

The bright morning was brisk, even for Nevada. As he slid out from behind the wheel of his '67 Chevy Impala, John Winchester pulled his faded and worn black blazer closer to his tired form. This was one of the last places he wanted to be at the moment. He hated cemeteries, hated funerals. There was always so much raw emotion just simmering beneath the surface and emotion was one of those things that John figured was best left alone.

Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, John squinted over at the small group of dark clothed people gathered near a large pile of dirt barely covered by a deep green tarp. The group seemed a bit straggled, small gaps in between some of them that seemed to mimic the chilliness in the air. Letting out a brief sigh, John let his hand drop. As he moved his head just out of the line of the Sun's rays, he quietly studied the scene for a moment, attempting to pick out the person he was searching for.

He kept telling himself he was here on a potential job, nothing else... But, it was never easy when the person involved was someone you knew. Even if you hadn't seen that person in twenty years.

Or talked to them. Or even heard a peep about them.

John reiterated his sigh. Chris Miller had been a good man. In the Hell that had been the Marines, there were few people you could say you trusted completely with your life when it got right down to brass tacks. Chris had been one of those men. It really had been a miracle the two had hit it off as they had. Both were hotheaded and stubborn, full of the typical Marine fire. Maybe that had been the reason they'd gotten along. Or maybe it was because John saw a bit of himself in the younger man.

Who knew, really?

So, it had hit him hard when he'd been on a hunt just a few towns over --- Not that he'd ever even think of stopping by for a visit --- and read the news in the local rag. 'Local Man Murdered In Home' the headline blared in it's harsh black ink. Chris was dead. He hadn't even been that damned old! His wife had apparently been home at the time, but managed to get away. The article had mentioned there had been no forced entry and nothing beyond the master bedroom had been disturbed. And no one in the immediate area had seen hide nor hair of anything unusual that night beyond the wife running out of the house, screaming for help.

Raising a rough hand to rub the bridge of his nose, John steeled himself for the approach. Shouldn't be that hard to separate the grieving widow from the other relatives. Letting his hand drop, John began to slowly move his way towards the group. God, he hoped she wasn't a crier.

Ducking his head a little, John stopped a few feet away from the group and cleared his throat. An older woman, her dark brown hair streaked with Grey, met his eyes with a hard look. _Friendly_, he thought with an internal snort. Too old to be the wife...He hoped. Giving the woman a stiff nod, more than she deserved, John shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around the remaining group. Off to the fringe of the gathering stood two younger women, their hushed tones unheard by the others. A willowy brunette reached extended a hand and pulled the other slighter blonde woman into a loose hug, a shudder escaping her body as it moved. Bingo. He remembered that hollow look in the mirror.

His eyes focused on the two women, John quickly moved towards them. The goal, quick greeting, condolences, feeling out information and then getting the Hell outta Dodge. Because the brunette definitely appeared to be a crier and John did not want to deal with that right now. He needed to figure out if something supernatural had indeed happened to his old buddy, resolve it, then get back to the boys before Sam and Dean wore out their welcome with Pastor Jim.

As the willowy brunette met his eye, John gave her a nod. "Dana?"

Instead of responding the brunette pulled away and looked down at the blonde, who turned to look at him. "What?" She managed, her voice sounding small, an almost croaking quality to it.

As she turned around, wiping at her wet eyes, John's heart dropped as he took in her rounded front. Pregnant? Dammit. Grimacing slightly, John ducked his head again, choosing to stare at the ground instead of her drawn gaze. A small part of him momentarily understood the pitying looks he used to get when the boys were small. When faced with such obvious loss, it was hard to suppress them.

"I, uh, I'm sorry to hear about Chris..." Should he look up? John wasn't exactly on top of etiquette rules. He should look up. Raising his head slightly, he met the woman's eyes. Puffy and bloodshot, a look he knew all too well. As they stared back at him questioningly, John realized how much he sucked at one on one (well, most) interactions. Had he held the gaze too long? Likely that was what the stare was about. Hell, it freak him out if a stranger came up and stared him down. Hell, it freaked him out when Sammy did it.

"You, uh, doing....alright?" Jesus, John, he berated himself, you're a genius. How often had that question aggravated the living Hell out of him when he had heard it the first few weeks after Mary's death. Same damn question either Mike or Kate (usually both of them) asked him every morning when the Winchesters had sought shelter with the Guenther's after the fire. Never failed. As soon as he'd managed to drag his ass out of bed, the irksome question had been almost chirruped in his direction. Before he'd even managed to lay a hand on the coffee pot. He shook his head at his own stupidity as he continued his mental bawling out. Yeah, John, I'm sure she's dandy. Pregnant and burying her husband. Why don't you offer her a beer next, you ass.

He watched as the woman wrinkled her brow and blinked slowly --- apparently even she thought he was an idiot for asking --- before responding: "I'm muddling through...," Tilting her head to the side, she wrapped her arms around her midsection tightly, likely more a soothing reflex than an annoyed gesture. Or maybe it was mistrust. "And you are...?" Yeah, seemed like mistrust.

"Uh," Real name, alias....Real name, alias...John quickly weighed the pros and cons of each. He needed trust to get the information he needed and the best way to garner that was honesty...Plus, he couldn't risk her being smart enough to check out a fake name. "Sorry, the name's Winchester. John Winchester. I was in the Marine Corp with Chris," He watched as some of her mistrust faded. Familiarity, a link to something you knew was true amidst everything else that was in the air --- it worked every time. With another stiff nod of his head, John continued, "He was a good man, good friend...I was sorry to hear what happened..." With accents on the word 'friend' and 'happened', John trailed off observing Dana intently for a moment. Beyond the anguish currently lining her face, she was a very pretty woman. Long, wavy blonde hair. Big eyes. Attractive without that haughty air about her. She reminded him just a little of Mary. Way in the beginning. Before that night.

John was about to attempt polite small talk once more when the brunette interrupted, placing a hand on Dana's shoulder, "Mom's summoning...I'll be back..." With a gentle squeeze, the other woman was off, walking with a quick stride back towards the larger group. Once assured she was far enough away to allow for more private questioning, John turned his attention fully back to Dana. Unfortunately, Dana's now seemed taken by the other group. She stood, huddled into herself, looking in it's direction with half lidded eyes. Something was up there. But it was none of his business, so John shrugged it off. Reaching out a hand, he barely made contact with her arm to gain her attention. "Dana..." He asked, leaning in bit closer, "About Chris...What happened that night?"

The question seemed to both catch her attention as well as off guard. Dana whipped her head in his direction, staring at John with wide eyes. She opened her mouth as if to respond, then snapped it back shut.

To John, it seemed like an odd reaction, even given the circumstances. Raising an eyebrow, he prodded, "Dana? What did you see that night?"

Looking away, Dana shook her head, her guard back up. "Chris was murdered," She replied in a small monotone voice, "They have no leads..." She turned her head back toward John, her face solemn, "They'll keep investigating, but they may never really know," She continued to look directly at him, her mouth wavering slightly as if there was more she wanted to say.

Out of the corner of his eyes, John noticed the Minister approaching. Time was running out, if there was something else he needed to know now. His impatience led to his tone being more gruff than he intended. "But? What?"

"They..." Dana finally managed only to be interrupted by the Minister reaching out and putting a hand on her shoulder. Her gaze lingered on John for a moment before turning to allow the man to whisper something in her ear.

As he watched the little whispers, John couldn't help the aggravated huff that escaped him. He just about had something out of her and then this. He didn't need this. This was one of the reasons he didn't go to Church. Preachy types always butting their noses in where they didn't belong. Dammit. He watched as Dana nodded her head at the man, then as the man's hand trailed down to her elbow as if to lead her away. _Pushy types too_, he growled to himself.

Looking back at him once more, she opened her mouth to say something, but this time John interrupted, refusing to be moved offtrack again. "You were saying something? Something about that night?"

"Oh," Dana gave him a tired shrug and managed a small grimace, "They....They just may never know," She repeated, turning slightly to follow the Minister, "Thank you for coming, John. I recall Chris speaking fondly of you. It was nice to put a face to the name, I just wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances..."

With a final tilt of her head in what was almost a nod, Dana moved away to take her spot with the larger group once more, leaving John to watch her go, his eyes narrowing. She was lying. About what, he didn't quite know. But there was something she just wasn't being truthful about. If having two teenage sons had taught him only one thing, it was one someone was being dishonest with him. And Dana Miller was definitely being dishonest with him. Didn't matter, he'd figure it out. He'd make damn sure of it.

As the burial got under way, John quietly turned to leave those close to Chris mourn in peace. Sliding back into his car, he waited, watching. Sooner or later, Mrs. Miller would have to be left alone and when that time came John intended to get his answers.


	2. Chapter 2

**October 12, 1995**

**Nevada**

**Holiday Inn Express Hotel & Suites**

**6:45 PM**

Parked outside the Holiday Inn hotel in the dimming Nevada daylight, John's gaze flicked between his worn watch and the pristine hotel windows. After following the grieving widow back to her current hiding spot --- She was no longer staying in the house, though John really couldn't say he blamed her --- John had stopped off at a local diner for a bite to eat and a change of clothes.

Though sitting here now, in faded jeans and layered shirts, he felt a little under dressed considering the look of the hotel. He was used to something...less fancy. More 1970's tacky vinyl furniture than room service at the push of a button. Rubbing a hand across his stubbled face, John took a deep breath. Regardless, it was time to put the plan into action. He hoped he'd given the widow enough time to compose herself after the funeral.

Or at least enough that she wasn't going to cry the whole time. Sighing, he pushed the Impala's door open and slammed it behind him. He really couldn't take the crying. As he headed towards the hotel, the ground crunched loudly beneath his booted feet and he felt conspicuously out of place. How exactly was he just going to announce his appearance here? She'd left him very little window of opportunity for further discussion with her parting comments in the cemetery. So how was he going to explain showing up at her door now? Or how he had located said door for that matter.

As he pulled open the glass door and wandered up to the front desk, John supposed when the time came the words would come to him. Whether they were the right ones or not would be another story. But, really, they just had to seem plausible, not necessarily good. With a nod at the hotel's desk jockey, John plastered a commiserative look on his face in an attempt to sway the young man into giving him the information he needed.

A few minutes later, as he headed down the carpeted hall, his footsteps now hollow sounding with every step closer to Dana's door, John found himself trying to mentally coin a good story as to his sudden reappearance. Though fooling the desk clerk had been rather simple, he had his doubts Dana would be as easy. What exactly could he say that wouldn't have him end up appearing to be some sort of funeral chasing stalker?

Huffing a short burst of air out of his nostrils, John shook his head and knocked on the door in rapid succession. Tapping his foot impatiently, he looked up and down the empty corridor as he awaited Dana to answer. As he took in the clean walls with the perfect wallpaper and neatly abstract art, John shook his head. If this was classy, he was way out of the loop. Least the artwork was slightly better here though. Unlike that one out of the way motel he'd stayed in with the boys years ago, where he had to explain to little Sammy why the nice lady in the picture had no clothes on. And why she was above the bed. John almost chuckled at the memory, but quickly sobered up as he heard the door creak open slightly.

And slightly was all it was. Through a small crack, likely enforced by a chain lock, two red rimmed and puffy blue eyes stared a hole through him. He was about to attempt a greeting when a flat tone followed.

"What do you want?" Dana asked, the strains of mistrust back once more.

"Uh, hey. We met at the cemetery earlier, I was a friend of Chris'....I just wanted to---..." John was just letting the words flow, unsure if, in her grief, she failed to recognize him from just hours before. His words, however, fell on deaf ears as Dana quickly interrupted him.

"I know who you are, I asked what you wanted. I'm in mourning, not stupid," She replied, coldly.

John's brow crinkled slightly at her seemingly aggressive tone. _What was that about? _He was used to people being pissed off at him, but it usually took more than one run in for him to garner such a reaction. Well, _usually_. He held up his hands in a gesture of calm surrender, his voice soft as he answered: "I just wanted to talk about Chris...."

It was the wrong thing to say apparently as John watched her eyes narrow, a few stray tears escaping with the sudden, squeezing movement.

A strangled sound, which on a good day may have been construed as a chuckle, escaped Dana's throat. "Do you now? What you writing a story and need some juicy gossip to get it to sell? Look, I'm tired of this...Take your crap and get lost..."

As she moved to close the door, John instinctively thrust his fingers in the small crack. It was a tight fit which cumulated in some squeezing that he was gonna pay for when he needed his trigger finger later, but it was a necessary move. "Ahh," He hissed as the door made contact with bone, and tried to fight off muttered cursing as he used his strength to force the door back to it's prior opening. "Look, Dana...I don't know who you think I am..."

"Let go of the door...Now..." She growled, attempting to push the door shut once more.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw movement in the corridor. Other guests. He was in immediate danger of losing control of this situation. If she yelled for help, it was over. Clutching back at the door, John's tone switched to one of urgency. "Dana....I don't know what you saw that night....But I believe you..."

Dana's mouth, which had been open and ready to object again, formed an 'O' and the pushing on the door slacked off. She studied him silently for a moment, as if trying to gather if he was being sincere or merely lying to play some game. He let his hand drop as he reiterated softly, "I believe you..."

As the pairing in the hall got closer, Dana let her head drop and shut the door. Squinting his eyes shut, John sighed. He'd lost her. She had been the only link to this story. He began to debate whether or not to walk away from this job, when he heard the sliding of a chain and the door opened again, wider this time. A small voice from behind the door almost whispered, "Come in..."

Stepping inside quickly, John almost breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he was getting somewhere. As he turned around to face her, the clicking of the door signaling they were indeed alone, John shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, hoping the relaxed stance would put her more at ease. It wasn't much, but considering her reaction to his moments prior statement, it was the best he could muster.

Dana stood, almost huddled against the wall by the door, her arms wrapped around her rounded form once more. Her facial expression was guarded, her body tense as if she was expecting to make a run for it. She rolled back and forth on her heels a few times and it was then, against the garish wallpaper that John really noticed her pallor. The last time he'd seen somebody that pale was when Dean needed his first stitches. He sure as Hell hoped she wasn't about to pass out. _Should he move closer just in case? _Before he could decide on that particular preventative measure, Dana spoke, her voice as guarded as her expression.

"So...What do you think I've...seen?"

Giving a shrug, John decided to stay where he was at the moment. No need to make her any more skittish then she was. "I dunno, you seem pretty sure you've seen something yourself...Why don't you tell me what you think you've seen?" Reverse psychology, and John Winchester was a master at it.

A slight 'tsk' sound escaped her and Dana gave him a withering, if not disappointed, look. Tilting her head back against the wall, she replied, "I should have known. Go play your games somewhere else, Mr. Winchester --- if that is indeed your name --- I'm not in the mood..." She began to extend her arm towards the knob of the door again.

Frustrated, John put a hand over his eyes, giving the area a gentle rub before sliding it down his face. Why was she making this so damned difficult? He'd given her a damned opening and she still insisted on being cryptic! He'd had enough of this paranoid crap. "Look," He began, his voice tight, "I'm not playing any damned---..." John broke off, a short gruff growl escaping him. Losing his temper was not the way to go, he knew it. But why did people have to be so damned... antagonizing? Tossing a hand out, he regained control of his temper and continued, "That night, did you see a man? Did he have yellow eyes?" As that question seemed to catch her attention, John found himself feeling almost a bit smug. _Yeah, I know your secrets, sweetheart_, he thought to himself as he fought to suppress that patented Winchester smirk.

Dana turned to look at him, her hand falling away from the door. But instead of

corroboration in her gaze, John saw confusion. "Yellow eyes?" She asked, an almost dubious quality to her voice, "No...No, nothing like that...," She paused, as if to mull over her words. "Why would you ask that?"

"Huh," John mused. _So much for that theory_. That narrowed it down to...about a hundred other options. Son of a bitch. "No reason, just throwing it out there," Until she was honest with him, there was no need for sharing time. "Look, you can trust me alright. I'm not here to mess with you, I'm here to get some answers. That's all. I was a few towns over on....some business. I read about an old friend, and I'd like to know what happened to him. Okay?"

Eying him hesitantly for a few moments longer, Dana trailed her hands to her back, giving it a short stretch. Judging by the size of the swollen lump beneath her black shirt, John figured she was pretty far along in that pregnancy. That had to be Hell. The kid was never going to know it's father. Something he could identify with. It still killed John that Sammy barely remembered Mary. He was about to inquire if she was okay, when she pushed herself away from the wall with a mutter. "Yeah, I'd like to know what happened too..."

John watched as she made her way over to the plush couch and slowly lowered herself down. He moved a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing absently at a tender area there. He'd managed to wrap up the hunt he'd been on pretty fast, though it wasn't without it's injuries. A poltergeist. Pain in the ass. What he wouldn't give for a few solid hours of shut eye before he had to be on the road again. "What do---..." John began, only to have his question cut off by a yawn. He cupped a hand over his mouth to contain it, giving Dana a sheepish shrug when she raised an eyebrow.

"You know, you can sit down, John. You don't have to just stand there," She remarked, wryly.

With a ghost of a grin, John motioned at the couch and when she nodded, he sank down beside her with a sigh. He placed his hands on his faded jeans, squeezing his knees gently. "You wanna tell me what you mean by that?"

Dana shook her head, a weak smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Trust me, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

John snorted, his hands cupping his knees, as he sat up straighter. _He wouldn't believe her? _Hell, he was in the habit of believing the unbelievable before he even hauled his ass out of bed in the morning. He wouldn't believe her. "You'd be surprised what I believe, Dana. Try me. Tell me what happened that night."

Sighing, Dana looked down at her hands in her lap. John could see she had them squeezed together so tightly that red marks were beginning to show. He hesitated before reaching out a hand and placing it on top of hers. He could feel the warmth emanating from her and he gave her hands a light squeeze before quickly drawing away. John wasn't good with personal contact. Never had been. Mary had actually changed that quirk for a few years, brought him out of his old ways. When she had been taken from him, John had felt himself slide so quickly back into his former self, that for the longest time he had felt like a stranger in his own form.

He knew if Dana would just start talking, the truth would come tumbling out. It was just getting her to that point, it was just getting her to trust him enough to open up. Well, John figured, nothing said trust more than sharing your own unbelievable tale. Huffing lightly as he ducked his head, John began, "About twelve years ago, my wife was murdered in my youngest son's nursery... I woke up to the sounds of her screaming," As the images of that night in 1983 flashed through his head like it was yesterday, he started to twist the gold wedding band on his finger absently, as if to draw strength from it. "When I got there...I found her pinned to the ceiling, surrounded by flames..." Closing his eyes tightly, John shook his head. He could still see the vacant expression on Mary's beautiful face, the dead look in her eyes... "They tried to tell me it was an electrical fire...But I know better...," John paused, opening his eyes and meeting Dana's wide blue ones once more, "Something killed my wife..."

Dana stared at him with a mixture of shock and horror. "What?"

Squinting his eyes, John cocked his head sideways and gave her a halfhearted grin. "That's what I'm workin' on. I have theories, I think it was a Demon. But whatever it was, I'm going to find it and I'm going to kill it," He spoke his last words with conviction. If it was the last thing he ever did, he'd get revenge for Mary. He'd get revenge for his family.

Dana remained silent for a few moments, looking at John in awe. At least, he assumed it was awe. She could be thinking that he was a total nut case. But she remained seated, and calm save her expression, so that was a point in her favor. Still, she was quiet a moment to long and it was her turn to share. "Did something like that happen to Chris?" He prodded, holding her gaze steadily.

She shook her head, blonde hair bouncing furiously, "No...Nothing like that at all..."

Dana paused, tilting her head to the side as she continued to study John, perhaps still unsure he would actually believe her. Finally with another long drawn out sigh, she finished beating about the bush and began. "Chris and I bought this house in town after we found out I was pregnant. It was close to his job, schools, had a backyard...It seemed perfect. And it was for awhile, I guess," She trailed off, running a hand through her hair to push it off her face. "I started to feel tired and rundown all the time, so once I was close to my third trimester I took some leave from my job --- I'm...well, I was, a nurse at the hospital...Anyway," Another sigh escaped Dana, and she leaned forward, sliding her hands between her knees and wringing them together. "It didn't help, I started sleeping quite a bit. Didn't feel like doing much at all...And Chris was working all the time..." Dana shook her head again, quietness overtaking her once more.

So far, nothing seemed to strange to John. And he was beginning to wonder if he hadn't misjudged the whole situation. Or her. "Nothing else happened during this time?" He broke into her reverie to ask, "You didn't see anything? Hear anything? Smell anything?"

"No...Nothing..." Dana affirmed, "Until the...that night. Chris went out with his buddies for a few drinks, I was exhausted, I stayed home...I went to have a nap upstairs and..." A shuddered escaped her form, "I don't know how long I was out but when I woke up I thought I heard things....Like scuttling movement...Or, I don't know. And then there was this other sound...It was...It was...." Dana suddenly stopped again, groaning as she tilted her head skywards. Before John could even think of forming a question, she continued, "It was like this guttural sound...Like an animal, but...deeper...I rolled over and there was this thing..." Her eyes, completely solemn, met John's once more, "I've never seen anything like this before...It was hideous. Like an animal...But like a person too..."

John's brow furrowed as he mentally flipped through an internal list of supernatural entities. Nothing immediately sprung to mind, but God knows what else was out there. "What did it do?" Maybe more information would narrow down the possibilities.

"It attacked me...And then Chris came home and it killed him. He made me leave, I couldn't help....And it killed him..." Dana paused, tears brimming as her voice become smaller, "And no one believed me..."

A sinking feeling hit John deep in his gut as he realized once more some supernatural bastard had ripped another family apart. It was just one more set of lives that had been ruined. As he jaw set tightly, a hard look swam behind his dark eyes. "I believe you, Dana." And he did.


End file.
